


The soul may find her peace in sleep

by amikara



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Reincarnation, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amikara/pseuds/amikara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was tired of Arthur never remembering him. This time he would let destiny take matters into her own hands, with consequences neither of them could foresee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The soul may find her peace in sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This fic (my first ever Merlin fanfiction, even) was written for the Merlin Tournament of Champions: Winter 2012 (aka Merlin Games), and my entry was for Team Reincarnate, using the prompt "Serial Killer". I promise there is also a bit of fluff and happy times in there, despite the bleak warnings. A big thank you to my beta and butt-kicker, staubundsterne and incapricious, and the awesomeness of Team Reincarnate. <3 
> 
> The title was taken from a quote by D.H. Lawrence:  
> And if tonight my soul may find her peace  
> in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,  
> and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower  
> then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

~*~*~

Darkness was around him. The air was hot, barely breathable, and every time his lungs expanded he felt as if the next gasp for air might drown him. His ability to move was constricted, with his legs bent and already complaining about the uncomfortable position he had been forced into, but he couldn't stretch them out any further. He had tried, but the room had only allowed him a few more inches before he hit a wall. His arms didn't do any better as they had to be forced into a similar odd angle with barely any room for movement.

But it wasn't the fact that he was surrounded by darkness, or that he was locked in a room that appeared to be no bigger than a cupboard. It was the fact that every movement hurt, every ragged breath felt as if he were inhaling tiny needles, and that his shirt was getting wetter.

The stillness that accompanied the darkness suddenly dispersed as footsteps pounded against a wooden floor, not far away from where he was lying. Soon those were joined by an agitated voice, and that agitated voice was followed by a loud crash, more shouting and... nothing.

For several long seconds there was silence, the kind of silence one would hear when time stopped moving, until the unmistakable sound of gunshots rang through the air.

~*~*~

_squishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquish._

The streets were glistening from the heavy rain that had pounded down a few hours earlier, leaving behind puddles of dirty water that filled up the holes in the street. Fog rose from the sewer covers, accompanied by a faint whiff of garbage and decay that quickly, and thankfully, vanished into the night sky of London.

_Squish. Squish. Squish. Squish._

The wet sidewalk swallowed the tapping sound that usually echoed off the concrete and replaced it with that disgusting squishy noise. Linn was annoyed. The mere fact that he was outside in the cold night - no, thanks to the sun disliking winter apparently as much as he did - on his way to his birthday present was reason enough to put him in a sour mood. He glanced down at the badly printed out and rather crinkled gift certificate that was in his hand, trying to decipher the house number he was supposed to go to.

"Stupid birthday."

Mary always had a particular imagination when it came to presents. She didn't think much of flowers and chocolate, or books and clothes. She preferred something she considered to be personal - if it wasn't handmade it had to come close to being so.

Why she had thought that a séance was a fantastic idea he couldn't understand. And she was a sneaky woman. If she had just given him a gift certificate he would've put it in a drawer and forgotten about it, but no - hers came with an appointment and big green eyes wrangling a promise of actually going there out of him. And if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his keeping of promises.

Stupid pride. Stupid childhood friends.

Another sigh escaped his throat as he finally arrived at his destination. A quick glance at his watch told him that he managed to be on time, despite slight problems with his sense of direction, but before he could raise a finger to ring the bell he was buzzed in. The door groaned under the rusty hinges as he pushed it open.

The flat, or office, or Seeing Room or wherever it was he was headed to was on the first floor, and the narrow stairs leading up to it made it impossible for him to arrive silently, announcing his presence by creaking loudly with every step he made. At the top of the stairs he found an opened door with a woman standing in the threshold.

"I've been expecting you, Linn. Please, come in."

He couldn't stop his eyes from rolling as the woman/Seer/medium/whatever turned around and headed back inside. Granted, the first impression was already spectacularly shattered with her casual way of dressing that consisted of simple trousers and a black blouse. He had expected a big turban and dozens of beads hanging around her neck and from her wrists, at least giving him something to amuse himself over while the woman Saw his future.

The door closed softly behind him after he'd entered, and the interior of her flat (definitely a flat) was as inconspicuous as she was. No crystal balls, no statuettes of angels or gods or anything, no dreamcatchers or collections of coloured rocks. It looked just like any other flat.

The woman - her name was mentioned on the slip of paper, but he hadn't paid enough attention to remember it - led him to a round table standing in the living room, a deep red table cloth covering it.

"Please, take a seat. Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?"

"No thank you, I am fine." As he pulled the chair he had sat down on closer to the table, he realized he still had the gift certificate crumpled up in his hand. He tried to smooth it out on his thigh as much as possible before he put it on the table and slid it over to the woman - Madame Cindy, according to the certificate - who sat opposite of him. She chuckled softly as she shook a small blue velvet bag, its insides rattling from the movement.

"Keep it, as a memento or something. And it's just Cindy, not Madame Cindy - I'm neither married, nor one of those "out of this world" people."

Linn blinked, wondering whether he had accidentally voiced his thoughts again. She didn't seem to be deterred by his confusion as she placed the bag on top of the paper, sliding it over to Linn.

"If you'd be so kind and mix the stones, please. Whenever you feel you're ready, open it and dump them onto the table."

"Shouldn't I be... dunno, think of a question I want answered?" The rattling of the stones accompanied his words in an unnerving manner.

Cindy shrugged again. "If you feel the need for it. But it's not necessary."

With a frown Linn opened the bag and turned it around, watching the flat stones he just mixed tumble onto the table. Several of them were turned upside down, showing a blank slate. But on those few stones that faced him he recognized black engravings on the white stones; if his memory served him correctly, they were runes.

"They are more precise than tarot cards."

He decided it was best not to ask and risk further heightening his confusion. Instead he let her turn the stones and study them in silence. Linn tried very hard not to fidget whenever her dark gaze strayed over his features while the minutes dragged on. And they turned out to be long minutes in silence, before it was finally broken.

"That's odd."

Not exactly the words he was expecting. "What?"

Moving some of the stones into something that might have been a pattern, she inclined her head and stared at them as if the slates held the answer to the universe. "They... I can't see a clear picture. That's never happened before."

While Linn had never been to a medium before, he guessed that this was not the usual answer one got. "Then what is it?"

Lifting his gaze from the non-existent patterns of the stones, he found the woman staring at him, her gaze drilling deep into his eyes.

"Everything. One destiny, woven through the aeons, mingling with the shadow of the fate you're trailing in. So many lives, so many tragedies, but no rest."

She narrowed her eyes, staring harder at the young man. Linn started to feel uncomfortable, or unnerved, he couldn't quite tell.

"Listen, I think it's best I get going. I mean, to be quite honest I didn't even want to come, my friend gave me this as a birthd-"

"What's your name?"

Linn blinked. "My... it's Linn Emerson."

She didn't seem to be satisfied and pressed on, digging her fingertips into the table -- white against the red cloth. "Linn? An abbreviation?"

He winced inwardly, too often did he have to explain the unusual choice of his first name, and while he nowadays found he could distract people to avoid that topic, he realized that this time his efforts would be in vain.

"It is, yes. It's short for Merlin."

~*~*~

The sound of the door being smashing into the frame was a small gratification after the humiliation Merlin just had to endure, and once more he found that the king's views on what was "just" and "fair" greatly differed from his own. He let himself fall onto his bed, his feet dangling in the air, and pushed the pillow against his face to silence the scream of frustration that tore from this throat.

The dragon's words haunted him as the earlier events passed through his mind again. Two sides of the same coin, it had said. It was his destiny to protect Arthur, it claimed. Granted, he wasn't a violent boy, and it wasn't his destiny that had made him grab the prince to pull him out of harm's way, but a tiny part of him, the one that had gotten more silent with every step he had taken as he left the banquet hall, had wished that he hadn't.

But what would have been the result of that? Thinking back to the execution he had to witness, Merlin shuddered to think about what Uther would have done if his only son, the crown prince of Camelot, had fallen victim to a magical attack. Gaius would have sent him back to Ealdor, if he had managed to keep his talents hidden until then.

Merlin pulled the pillow away again and flung it into a corner. With a sigh he rolled out of bed and walked over to the small table that was standing at the wall, a candle sitting on top of it. He slumped into the chair, staring hard at the wick. He was in no mood to get up and light the candle from the fire that was burning in Gaius' workroom, but he wanted a source of illumination to light up his dark chambers.

As if his magic had read his mind, a flame sprung out from the wick and started to lick at the candle. His magic. In times like these he felt that she was the only thing he could find comfort in, his only anchor in his life next to his mother.

All his life he had wondered why he was born with this gift, and it seemed that the Great Dragon had provided him with an answer. It just wasn't the answer Merlin wanted to hear. Propping his head on his arm he braced on a stack of books, he started at the candle as if it held the answers to everything.

Was this the road he was supposed to walk on? Was this the reason why he had magic?

The sound of knocking at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

~*~*~

"And? Details, Emerson, give me details. How was it?"

The previously empty seat opposite of his desk was filled with one annoying neighbour who held a cup in his hand, taunting him with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The only thing Linn could muster that early in the morning with an empty stomach was a scowl he threw over the folded up newspaper he was trying to read.

"Oh come on, don't be like that. You've practically been moaning about this visit for ages - to me, by the way - so the least you could do is gimme a little scoop. What did she say?"

Linn unfolded the paper and raised it, blocking the view from his good for nothing neighbour. But the makeshift peace didn't last very long, as someone (as if there was any question who it could be) poked at his paper from the other side. Linn ignored it.

"Go read a book, I'm sure there's one in the shop you don't know yet."

His shop. With a wistful sigh Linn allowed himself a glance around the small place he called his own. Still. It had been five years since he'd succumbed to his vices and had decided to buy a bookshop. Back then it had seemed like a brilliant idea. Waking up every morning to go to his shop, being greeted by the smell of books, both used and new, and spending the day behind his desk, reading the items people brought him to either trade or sell. And Linn loved it, he loved old books. He didn't mind the dog ears, yellowed pages or the cracks in the spines. To him those were signs that someone loved this book that much to read it over and over again.

He treasured his books, but in times of Waterstones and Amazon it was difficult for a small shop like his to survive, especially one that's been struggling for a few months. He didn't know how much longer he could keep his business running, and in truth it had been the one question he would've wanted an answer for as he went to collect his birthday present. At least that way he could prepare himself.

"Hello~~ mother ship to earth, anyone home?" The snapping of fingers in front of his face pulled Linn out of his sombre thoughts. "You still at home?"

"Yes." He folded up his newspaper again and put it down. "I'm still at home, but not interested in telling you anything. Too personal, you know?"

"Since when do we have secrets?" Arthur had left the coffee on his desk and was already browsing through one of the shelves. It was a familiar sight, one he'd grown used to ever since that man had stepped into his shop three years ago, one day after he'd moved into the apartment building Linn lived in.

"I fear there are too few between us. How else can we keep up a shroud of mystery?" Without feeling guilty, Linn took Arthur's coffee and sipped from it. As Arthur threw a glance at him, Linn smirked and made sure to look as obscenely as possible while he let his tongue run over the rim of the cup. An elderly woman gasped nearby.

"What a coincidence, Emerson. That's the same thing I did before I came in here." Arthur's smirk outdid his own as he pulled a book out of the shelf and sauntered over to the desk. He reclaimed his cup and snickered at the grimace Linn pulled.

"Screw you, Pendon."

"You wish."

Another gasp came from the side. Arthur took his seat again, the book balancing on his knees, and nursed the coffee Linn unsuccessfully tried to claim as his own. Linn took a peek at the book Arthur had chosen.

"White again? Haven't you read that four times already?"

Arthur flipped the book open and started to read the first chapter. "Five times. And what can I say, I like T.H.'s style."

"Excuse me? Could you help me find a book?" An older man stood at the far end of the store, looking a little helpless at the section of history books. Pushing back his chair Linn rose to his feet and walked around his desk.

"Time to go do my job."

"Yes, working man, go earn our living." Arthur was already engrossed in the novel and sipped his coffee as Linn left to attend to his customer.

~*~*~

Night had settled over Camelot, wrapping the land in a chilly embrace that would have left people huddled in front of their fireplaces, their breaths hovering in puffy white clouds above their heads before dissipating into thin air. But the streets and houses were deserted and the lower towns emptied as the courtyard in front of the castle was filled with people, both knights and commoners, each one of them holding a small candle, basking the interior court in a sea of golden flames.

Merlin stood at a window, arms wrapped around his torso, and fought back his tears at the display of loyalty Camelot showed its dying prince. Swallowing, Merlin turned away, his gaze drawn to the frail figure lying in bed. With careful steps, almost as if he were afraid to wake up the sleeping man he approached the bed. Arthur looked like a shadow of himself, like death warmed over which in this case was closer to the truth than Merlin was comfortable with.

"Cold. It's too cold, Arthur." Merlin didn't leave Arthur's side as the fire in the fireplace flared up again, a wave of warmth spreading through the room. Blessed emptiness. Gaius had to force Uther out of his son's quarters and ordered the grieving king some rest for himself. Gwen had done the same with Morgana, who only reluctantly left Arthur's side.

Merlin still felt guilty as he looked at Morgana. After all, she was the one who had seen Arthur getting bitten by the Questing Beast. He should have heeded her warning. Perhaps Arthur wouldn't be dying now. He reached out a shaky hand and let his fingertips ghost over Arthur's cheek, the skin drenched in sweat while still clammy with cold.

"Why are you so cold? You shouldn't be." Merlin seemed to lose control of his limbs as he slipped off his boots and crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Carefully not to cause Arthur any more pain he lay down next to him, his arm lightly winding across his chest. Even though the pillow was soaked with Arthur's sweat, Merlin didn't recoil from the smell, but instead let his forehead rest against Arthur's temple.

"Too cold." His whispered words ghosted over the prince's cheek, barely stirring the hair that clung to his forehead. Merlin couldn't give up. The road he and Arthur were to travel on hadn't yet come to an end, he knew that. Two sides of the same coin, the Great Dragon had said.

Merlin wouldn't give up.

~*~*~

"Thank you very much, have a nice evening!"

Linn locked the door behind the last customer and turned the small plate that hung attached to the door window around, showing the word "CLOSED" in bright red letters to anyone who stood in front of the entrance. Shuffling back through the store Linn picked up some discarded books and put them back in their proper places on their designated shelves. His desk was cluttered with papers and books - his own organised chaos, as he called it. He'd soon learned that trying to get rid of the clutter would only produce more clutter, hence he settled on cleaning away his mugs, dig out his mobile and do the cash check. Half an hour after leading the last customer out of his shop he switched off the lights and left, locking the door once more.

Once again rain descended over the area he lived and worked in while the last rays of sunshine vanished behind the buildings in the far distance and made room for the dusk that slowly rolled over the city. The umbrella snapped open before Linn could get wet and shielded him from the heavy drops the pounded against the plastic cap in a strangely soothing rhythm. The only regret he felt was that his beloved Chucks weren't produced for rainy days, and the only thing that made this involuntary foot bath bearable was the short distance between his workplace and his very dry, very warm flat. He was looking forward to the Chop Suey he'd pick up from the Chinese restaurant that was situated in the building next to his. If he was lucky, Steve would throw in an extra portion of the fried noodles he loved. Lost in thoughts Linn wound his way through the crowd, anticipation running through him. A quiet evening was all he wanted for tonight.

It seemed fate had other plans.

Turning into the street he lived on he found a huge crowd gathered in the middle of the road, the houses illuminated by the flashing blue light of several police cars and an ambulance that started to roll away as it turned on its siren. 

Curiosity pushed him forward into the crowd. Linn gathered only bits and pieces from the excited whispers that scurried amongst the people, but once he found a gap that offered him a view at the scene beyond the yellow tapes his gaze was drawn to the entrance around which the police was gathered. His curiosity was swept away at once and replaced by dread. The house that had turned into a crime scene had all of its windows opened, curious faces peering out of them. Almost every window, except three of them. Two of the three flats the windows belonged to were dark, but the third one wasn't. The shadows of people moved quickly behind the drawn curtains.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he had to force his gaze away from the closed window to recognize the mop of blond hair that was standing a few feet away from him, the usually light hair darkened by the heavy rain. Linn tried to elbow his way towards the other man as careful as possible, ignoring the indignant remarks by way of a glare until he wedged himself next to an elderly lady. Arthur didn't acknowledge his presence, not even when an umbrella was held over his head, preventing him from getting any wetter than he already was. His gaze was fixed on the same window Linn had stared at, but Arthur's eyes held a sadness that wiped any witty remark Linn may have come up with as a greeting. Instead he gently nudged his shoulder, and as their eyes connected he nodded towards their house in a silent invitation. Linn didn't need to wait for an answer. He turned around to make his way back to his home and heard the crowd shift behind him and felt a familiar hand on his back, its fingers fisting into the fabric of his jacket. Leaving the scene behind them they walked in silence the remaining yards to Linn's flat.

He realized his appetite was gone as he nodded at Steve in greeting and unlocked the entrance door. Not a word was spoken while they ascended the stairs, and as they passed the door to Arthur's flat Linn gently took him by his elbow and pulled him along to the next door - the one leading to his own flat. The turning of the key, the groaning of his door, the first beam that creaked when someone stepped on it - Linn only registered everything in a daze. He could only focus on that one image that was burned in his mind; the deep sadness that clouded the normally clear blue eyes.

 

~*~*~

Summer had settled over Albion. The crops were in full bloom, the flowers in the meadow broke the monotone greenery with specks of colours. A calmness quieted the busy streets of Camelot as the midday sun had forced the majority of the people to retreat into their homes to be spared the heat and allow them a moment of rest.

Merlin stood in his chambers, the same ones that used to belong to Gaius before old age had finally caught up with him and taken him to eternal sleep. His gaze carried around the meticulously organized room as he approached his working table on which a wide array of herbs and several vials were spread out around an opened book. His fingers ran along his jaw, causing his beard to tickle his skin. A sleeping potion, a paste to sooth a pulled muscle, a tincture to tend a cut - despite being the court sorcerer, Merlin wanted to put the skills Gaius had taught him to use, and some people still regarded magic with suspicion despite the king's repeal on Uther's ban of magic.

Engrossed in the scaling and weighing of ingredients to produce more tinctures and pastes, Merlin lost himself in his work, only occasionally glancing at the extensive recipe book his old tutor had written with the utmost care. By now he knew it by heart, every single word Gaius had jotted down burned into his mind like every single one of his spells, but it was a habit he had never gotten rid of, his desire to perfect his work still taking a hand in his every decision. With a flick of his finger the wick of the candle that stood underneath a large glass vial held up by a construction of wires ignited with a small hiss.

"Still up to your little tricks, I see?"

"Close the door, Arthur. The draught is killing the flame." Merlin didn't look up from his work to greet his king, but the sound of the door being shut and Arthur's muttered cursing pulled a smile on his face.

"Twenty years, and you still don't know how to address royalty."

The heavy boots Arthur wore pounded against the wooden floor, but Merlin missed the familiar sound of the rattling chainmail. Frowning in confusion he finally looked up from his workplace. Arthur had traded his usual richly embroidered tunics for his simple white shirt he always used to wear when he spent his time in the solitude of his chambers, and the ridiculous red jacket he'd loved wearing as a prince and which Merlin, after having been punished with a night of washing and polishing every single button, had "accidentally" ruined beyond repair. Arthur had mourned that jacket for days. Years later, after Merlin had finally revealed his magic to him, he had been close to pummelling the king into the ground when he had given the warlock his old jacket and ordered him to mend it.

"You are wearing this on purpose, aren't you?" Merlin walked over to a shelf that held various vials filled with potions and tinctures in all colours. Each one had a small label on it, the ingredients listed in his crisp handwriting. Merlin ran his finger along a shelf, trying his best to ignore the chuckle coming from behind him. Pausing his fingers to study a vial that contained a dark green paste, he picked it up and opened it with careful fingers as he turned to face Arthur again. As it was part of their usual routine he had already removed his jacket and shirt, and was waiting on Merlin while sitting on a bench.

The years had left their own marks on the once pristine skin. Too many battles had been fought, too many wounds had scarred his body. Every one of them had its own story and Arthur had wanted to keep them as a reminder, yet some wounds were persistent in their reminding. Old war wounds. Like father, like son.

Once Merlin arrived at Arthur's side he poured some of the paste out of the vial and let it drop onto his palm. The vial hovered onto the table next to which Arthur was sitting while he rubbed the paste between his hands, warming it before he massaged it onto a scar that ran along Arthur's shoulder blade and down his back.

The bustling of the street below the window was carried up to the workroom. The paste had started to melt, and Merlin worked with nimble fingers not to waste a single drop and massaged it into the skin. Several minutes passed in silence, and as Merlin finally was finished and about to pull his hands away, Arthur took hold of the one that had lingered on his shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you, old friend."

Merlin squeezed back. "Anytime, my king."

~*~*~

Although the window of his living room faced the street that was very slowly clearing up, Linn had pulled down the curtains to block the flashing lights as best as they could. Arthur had settled on the couch with a bottle of beer while Linn tried to salvage the scraps of food he'd found in his fridge and come up with something that resembled dinner. Sometime between trying to defrost a piece of chicken in the microwave and trying not to burn the sauce, the TV had flared up and filled the silence with an episode of East Enders. Linn had to bite his lip to stifle his laughter; he just couldn't take these kinds of shows seriously.

"Well... it won't be a three star meal, but it'll be edible. I hope." Flopping on the couch, Linn threw a sideways glance at Arthur who stared at the TV in silence.

Linn was at a loss. He knew that Arthur was friends with the old man whose corpse had been carried out earlier, and had often visited him, but apparently their friendship ran deeper that he'd assumed. He wasn't used to Arthur being that silent. Arthur didn't know when to shut up and always had a witty remark on his lips, and his charm always worked in his favour. Over the years Linn had learned to grow immune to his disarming smile, much to Arthur's dismay. It never stopped him from trying, though.

Balancing the beer he'd taken with him earlier on his knee Linn looked for words to console him, but he had never been one who could handle death. Neither when he was boy and held his mother's hand as she cried, nor when he had stood at his mother's grave.

That had been five years ago. The night the last guests had left the wake he'd packed his bags and left for London. Two years later Arthur had arrived at his doorstep one evening, a six-pack in his hand, and invaded his life.

"It's wrong." Arthur's voice broke through the tension that had built up in Linn. He turned his head to sneak a glance at him, and found himself looking at glassy eyes. Whether they were from unshed tears or the alcohol, he couldn't tell.

"Did you hear what happened?"

Arthur nodded mutely and took a sip from his bottle before answering. "Murdered. Probably armed robbery."

Linn gasped in shock. He hadn't expected the old man to have died a violent death. He had lived his life, he assumed that it had just been his time to go.

"Good god, who'd do something like that?"

For a short moment Linn thought he saw a flash of anger that was directed at him cross Arthur's face, but the moment it appeared it was gone again. His voice held a fatigue that sounded wrong for a man his age.

"I don't know, I wish I knew, it's... he didn't deserve this." In one swoop he emptied his bottle and put it down on the floor, next to the first one he'd finished half an hour earlier. Linn handed him his own beer which was still untouched.

"I didn't know you were that close."

Wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers, Arthur's gaze was stuck to the screen again. "We've known each other for ages. He's been living here since before I was born. We met when I was shopping, and... I don’t know. We clicked."

At Linn's raised eyebrow, Arthur barked out a dry laugh. "Not the way you think, you pervert."

"No no, god no, that's not what I-" Linn blushed hotly and ducked his head in embarrassment. Arthur nudged his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I know." Arthur offered Linn his beer, but he only shook his head in reply. "Anyway, we just became friends. I can't really explain it, but Lance was there when I needed him, and I was helping him when he needed it. I give a rat's ass about what people thought, but he was a good guy, and it felt right, you know?"

Arthur got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. "If I get my hands on the bastard who did this, he'd better have an entourage of bodyguards protecting him." With a loud bang he smashed the bottle on the counter, beer spilling out through the narrow bottleneck.

Linn silently followed him. Arthur's shoulders were tense, the muscles hard as stone under the shirt. As he extended his arm to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, he felt Arthur's fingers reaching out to his, tightly squeezing them.

~*~*~

Tonight was the night, Kilgharrah had told him. After all their hardships, all their journeys and adventures, tonight was the night. Merlin still remembered their conversation - only it wasn't really one. He'd shouted, he'd cursed, he'd begged, he'd even ordered him. But in the end, no magic, not even Emrys was strong enough to prevent destiny from taking shape and completing its circle.

Tonight was the night.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he walked away from the shore. Sir Bedivere, one of Arthur's faithful Knights of the Round Table, stood guard, his hand tightening around the handle of his sword. But as he recognized the warlock approaching the cave entrance, relief spread across his face. Merlin couldn't look him in the eye as he passed the young knight, his shame wrapping tightly around his throat. His grip on his staff was tight, too badly were his hands shaking. Passing the entrance he found the cave cast in a dark shadow, a fire in the back the only source of illumination. And next to the fire lay a figure, their chest barely rising, the tunic that covered the chainmail torn and bloodstained. The crest that adorned the centre of the garment was ripped in two. Merlin squared his jaw as he approached Arthur, fighting back tears that threatened to spill.

"You're... late, _Mer_ lin."

The warlock knelt down next to his king and put his staff aside. With gentle hands he moved Arthur to lay his head onto his leg. A small smile curled Merlin's lips, but even the shadows couldn't hide the sadness from Arthur's weakening sight.

"Don't mourn me Merlin."

"It's not you I mourn, but your armour, sire. I have spent many hours polishing it."

"... Idiot."

"Dollophead."

Both men couldn't help but chuckle until a cough tore from Arthur's throat. Merlin laid a hand on his chest, murmuring words of healing. At once Arthur's laboured breathing calmed, and his pain stricken face lost its tension.

"Will Albion survive, even when I'm gone?"

Merlin's thumb stroked the sweat off Arthur's brow. "Albion will survive, albeit under many names. You have laid the foundation for a great kingdom. Now you must let destiny take its course once more."

Even as Merlin spoke those words he didn't want to believe them, even though the truth in them was undeniable. He could only hold onto Arthur, hold him close, and wait. Dawn was breaking, the first rays of sunlight chasing away the shadows in the cave. It couldn't stop the bone seeping chill from creeping under their tunics, goose bumps forming on their skins. The sound of approaching footsteps as they crunched on the gravel came nearer. As opposed to him, the new arrival walked on light steps, stopping a few paces behind him.

"I've been expecting you, Morgana."

Arthur's eyes widened in alarm, and Merlin felt him struggling in his arms to sit up. His gaze sought out Excalibur, but the warlock pushed him back down with gentle hands. With a shake of his head he pushed a lock away from Arthur's forehead, while beckoning Morgana to approach.

"Bedivere?"

"Unharmed."

Merlin nodded. The confusion and, even if the brave man would deny it until his last breath, fear on Arthur's face didn't go unnoticed to him, and it pained the warlock to see either of those. He needed more time, he wanted more time - so many things were left unsaid in their lifetime, and now that time slipped through his fingers like fine grains of sand, he felt the inability to do so weigh heavy on his shoulders. Noticing the tense silence between the two men, Morgana turned on her heel and left them again. Merlin would know where to find her. The tightness in his throat marginally loosened once they were left in solitude again.

"Don't be alarmed, my king. Morgana is not our enemy anymore. She is here to guide you to Avalon."

Arthur didn't answer. Arthur didn't need to answer.

Later, as Merlin stood at the shore and watched the boat that carried Morgana and Arthur through the fog into Avalon, he looked down at his hand, the last traces of the magic that flowed through him and Arthur slowly ebbing again. Heavy steps carried him away from the Isle, deep into the woods far away from Camelot. The last image he remembered was that of Sir Bedivere clutching Excalibur to his chest and weeping, and it would haunt him for years to follow.

~*~*~

Linn sat in his living room, nursing a cup of coffee that had long turned cold, and stared at the dark screen of his TV. The silence in his flat sounded like static noise in his ears, and he tried to keep his mind busy to stop himself from over-analysing. But in the end, his mind did just that, and it frustrated him to no end. Although, frustration may not have been the right word.

His gaze occasionally strayed from the TV and wandered over to the door through which his neighbour had left three hours ago, with a slight spring in his step and a smile far too wide for someone who had just lost someone the night before. Linn guessed - knew - that it wasn't his food that had put a smile on Arthur's face and a spring in his step, but rather what had happened afterwards. Alcohol and grief didn't mix too well when it also involved mutual attraction between the drunken parties.

Arthur had never been shy about his intentions towards Linn, starting from the day he had shamelessly flirted whilst holding a book that was stubbornly held together by duct tape and, quite frankly, barely worth the paper it was printed on. Three books (each of them looking marginally better than previous one) and three refusals later a shaky friendship had formed which grew stronger over the months, yet Linn wasn't blind to the continuous advances, and even he had to admit that yes, Arthur was attractive and probably as good in bed as he always claimed, but there was something about the older man which made Linn hesitate, and over the years, whilst the advances were flattering, he had learned to build a wall and resist him.

But last night Linn saw a fragility in Arthur that made him lower his defences and reach out, intent on providing comfort in a time of need. That gesture, that moment when they connected was the spark that set off the fire. The night was spent in a heap of tangled limbs, soft moans and lazy kisses, and neither of them wished for the morning to ever arrive. But when it finally did, and Linn awoke to arms curled around him and soft lips brushing against the tender skin at the back of his neck, the reality of everything came crashing down on him. If Arthur had noticed the way Linn avoided his gaze and carefully slipped out of his embraces, he never made any mention of it.

His fingers curled around the handle of his mug. Linn felt truly and utterly awful. He had used Arthur in his moment of weakness, and he wasn't sure if he could ever forgive himself. The guilt was gnawing at his conscience and made good work of destroying every excuse in the book he thought of that could have justified his actions. It didn't help him at all that his very vivid imagination kept supplying him with images from last night, and that his guilt was quite happy with taking pleasure from those memories. Everything in this flat reminded him of that night, and staying around to sulk wouldn't make things any better.

That was the reason why he quickly dressed himself and left for his shop on a Sunday afternoon. The blinds were drawn down, the front door locked tight, and he had brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee before losing himself in yet another book. His feet were resting on his desk, and once in a while he would wiggle his toes when he came across an exciting scene in the narrative. Arthur would often pinch his big toe whenever he did that and tease him mercilessly about it, and in return he'd rub his feet under his nose whenever he was within reach. With a wistful glance he looked at the empty chair opposite of him, and with an exasperated sigh that followed he let his head fall back, resting it against the back of his chair.

The ticking of the clock tore through the silence of the shop. Sometimes Linn hated his inability to face his demons, his urge to prefer hiding in the shadows rather than putting himself into the centre of attention, a character trait Arthur had managed to perfect.

Why on earth did everything come back to Arthur?

"I can see the smoke coming out from your oversized ears. What are you pondering about?"

Time seemed to slow down as Linn jumped in surprise, only to forget that his feet were perched on his desk while sitting in a chair that didn't react very well to sudden movements, and toppled over, dragging Linn with him. Blinking in confusion he found himself staring at the ceiling until a blond head shoved itself into his vision, a bemused smile lightning up the face of the owner.

"You okay?"

As Linn didn't answer the head disappeared again, and for a moment he thought this image had just been another figment of his imagination, until a pair of strong arms reached under his armpits and pulled him to his feet. Apparently it hadn't been just his imagination.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

If Arthur's hand lingered a moment too long on his shoulder, Linn made good work on not acknowledging that. In fact he was very good at not acknowledging Arthur at all and busied himself with putting up his chair again, yet he could feel the inquisitive stare drilling into his back. Not a moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder again.

"Hey Linn... Talk to me, will you? Did I do something wrong?"

He turned around and stared at Arthur. Opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Linn found it hard to make anything of the situation, or Arthur's reaction. After all, he was the one to apologize, not his grieving friend. He should be the one to draw him in his arms and kiss him on the temple and tell him that everything would be fine, not Arthur. Yet he still didn't pull out of the embrace or move his head as he felt the lips slowly travelling down, across his cheek, words of comfort and silent promises following them.

Everything would be alright.

~*~*~

The kettle was whistling on the stove, pulling Merlin out of his light slumber. With an annoyed flick of his hand the kettle rose and poured its content into a mug that was placed on the counter, the tea leaves floating in the hot water. With a groan he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled to the alcove that served as a kitchen.

Age finally had caught up with him, if the pain from his joints was anything to go by. Age and loneliness.

Forty years since he had watched Arthur being taken to Avalon. Forty years since he'd last been to Camelot, had packed his few belongings and left the kingdom, hiding in a small hut in the forest, hundreds of leagues away from his former home. Merlin didn't need a crystal to know what happened to her. With King Arthur dead and his Court Sorcerer gone her defences weren't strong enough to withstand her enemies, and she fell. Merlin saw her in his dreams sometimes, the walls crumbled, the towers overgrown with ivy. The heart of Albion lay forgotten, and the kingdom was split into many territories. With Arthur's death a part of his magic was gone, the part he had given his king as a farewell gift, a promise to find him again once his soul had returned.

Forty years, and he hadn't found his king.

Until today, when he had heard his magic sing to him again. His initial joy had been dampened by the desperation that clawed at him. Knowing that due to his age he was at death's door, his only wish had been to see his beloved king again before he, too, would perish and move on. Merlin closed his eyes, the whispered incantation passing his lips as easy as his breath, and for that short moment he felt the magic ripple through him, through his hut and out into the forest, rolling over the land like a wave. And in the far distance, he could _see_ it, a small beacon that lit up in the far distance, its magic dancing joyously to his own.

The tea was still sitting at the counter, a gentle steam rising from the cup, as Merlin took his staff and threw the door shut behind him, his feet already carrying him towards _that light_. Even through his joints ached, his breath turned into short gasps and the tiredness tore at his stamina, he pushed forward, through the forest, past the fields, only stopping twice on his chase. He didn't dare to sleep as night fell, fearing that he wouldn't wake up, and as soon as the first light fell through the treetops he was walking again.

But he was an old man, far older than anyone else in these or any lands. Long gone were the times where he could run many furlongs without breaking a sweat, or spend nights without restful sleep. Merlin didn't care though. Just one look, one word in greeting was all he longed for. His staff had to carry his weight as he leaned against it for support more and more often, and his steps became slower and slower.

The village that was set to be his destination was drawing close. The song his magic had whispered to him the day before was singing loudly and clearly in his head, giving him the strength to carry him forward. The road led to a small village, almost insignificant in its size, and so far away from the main trade routes that hardly any strangers passed through it. And Merlin was a stranger to the children who played outside on a field until they saw an old man hobbling towards them. He barely registered as they scrambled to get away from him and ran back into the village as his gaze was fixed on the girl that remained behind, her feet frozen to the ground.

A laugh tore from his lips as he dropped to his knees in front of the girl, a shaky hand reaching out and gently grasping her shoulder. He expected many things, but not his magic having a sense of humour. The girl didn't move as Merlin put his hand on her, staring at him in a strange mixture of curiosity and recognition, her eyes shining in a blue colour Merlin would recognise anywhere.

A cool draft passed through Merlin's bones, and he could hear whispers dancing around him. The spirits of nature, the ones who breathed life and death, had promised to spare him until he had found Arthur, and now that Merlin had they were ready to collect on their promise. The girl's - _Arthur's_ \- cheek was warm under his palm.

"I will find you again, my king. I will."

Tiny fingers ran across Merlin's face, brushing away the tears that wet his cheek. As the last of his strength finally left his body he slumped into himself, his magic leaving his body as he exhaled his last breath. The men of the village, concerned of the children's talk of a stranger lurking outside the gates, raced to find him lying on the ground, his life already having left him, and little Anna clutching his tunic as she cried into his chest.

~*~*~

Odd didn't even begin to cover the way Linn wanted to describe the past few weeks. It didn't have to do with the fact that he found himself in something neither he, nor his annoying, but incredibly hot neighbour were ready to call a relationship. It had more to do with certain events and situations that had happened over the course of the past few weeks, starting with the strange looks Arthur kept throwing him when he thought Linn wasn't watching, to Arthur getting increasingly antsier the more time they spent together, which had led to many instances of headbutting.

Yet as he lounged on Arthur's couch, his legs folded under him and waiting for him to finish something that supposedly resembled cooking, something else was bothering, or rather worried Linn. His thoughts carried him back to the previous night, when he had come home to find Arthur holed up in his flat, a look on his face he could only describe as defeat. Stony silence was the only answer he would receive to his questions before Arthur dragged him into the bedroom. Linn could only describe the sex they had as passionate and desperate, and it reminded him of their first night they shared together after Lance's death.

"Hello? Sleeping with your eyes open again?"

Linn's head snapped up to find Arthur standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, a prominent stain of what he assumed was tomato sauce on his shirt. A sympathetic smile curled Linn's lips.

"You need a new shirt?"

Arthur merely arched an eyebrow before he retreated into the kitchen, leaving Linn shaking his head in bemusement as he got up from the couch and walked into his bedroom. The way his clothes were cluttered all over the bed and floor it was evident that cleanliness wasn’t Arthur’s strong-point. With a heavy sigh he started to collect the items that covered the ground. While he wasn't Arthur's maid, he sure as hell wasn't going to indulge him in his habit. Linn was feeling smug as he had everything collected in a heap and ready to dump the clothes on the bed - Arthur usually spent most of his nights at Linn's place anyway, it wasn't as if he'd miss the space - when he felt something heavy slip out of the pile and fall to the ground.

Glancing down he found a folder lying open on the floor and its contents scattered around it. With a soft curse on his lips he threw the clothes he still carried onto the bed and knelt down to clean up the mess he’d produced, but froze in mid movement when he saw a familiar face that was only partially hidden by another page glance back at him. Grasping the document he pulled it out of the pile and stared at it in disbelief.

Looking back at him was a picture of himself that was obviously taken before he had moved to London, and beneath it he found various kinds of information - the street he grew up on, his old school, people he knew, even notes about his parents and their deaths. His hand was shaking as he put down the document and picked up another one. It had used a similar template to the file which had been compiled about him, but he didn't recognise the man in the picture, only the name.

Merlin.

Going through more and more files he found himself wondering just what Arthur was getting at, or if his judgement of people was that skewed. Next to a few more files about other Merlins he also found several on various Gwens, Morgans, Gwaines, Percevals... names he knew, every person in Great Britain knew or at least had heard before. Linn's eyes were widened in disbelief as he stared at the scattered pages, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he had trouble getting a grasp on. He glanced over his shoulder through the open slit in the doorway, looking for any signs of Arthur. Finding none he turned his attention back to the papers and started to pile them together and stuffed them back into the folder. Linn's confusion had given way to anger, and he was ready to ask questions and demand the answers he wanted.

One page had slipped under the bed, its corner peeking out from beneath the shadows. Linn reached out and wanted to crumble it into a ball as he read about another Merlin when he felt his fingers bumping into something solid. He peered under the bedframe and found another folder lying under it. Linn only allowed himself a moment's hesitation before he pulled it out from its hiding place and opened it with determined movements. But instead of more documents about people named after figures from the Arthurian legends, he found newspaper clippings that had carefully been inserted in a sheet protector. The latest was dated yesterday and featured an article about a homicide, and while the victim's last name had been recognise, it was her first name that caught his attention.

 _Gwen._ Turning the page he found the article that wrote about the old man who had lived across the street. _Lance... Lancelot?_ Attempting to avoid any noises he carefully flipped through the clippings only to realize that they always wrote about someone's death, and each time the victims were named after figures from the legends. The last article in the folder was dated from the 18 th century.

Linn's confusion returned tenfold, only this time he felt the icy sting of fear crawling down his spine. He opened the first folder again and pulled out the document about himself, skimming over the page. After a few years living next to him, he didn't have any problems deciphering Arthur's sloppy handwriting which read on the near bottom of the page where Linn had been living since he'd moved to London.

Arthur had known where he lived before he moved in next door.

"Linn? Did you get lost on the way to the closet? Seriously, if you want me to cook for you topless at least have the decency to ogle me while doing so."

Footsteps approached the bedroom. Jumping to his feet Linn grabbed a random shirt out of the pile of clothes and dashed to the door, bumping into Arthur as he was about to enter.

"Jesus, Linn. Coordination issues?"

He found himself frozen on the spot as he stared at Arthur with wide eyes, the shirt clutched to his chest. His earlier idea to confront the older man about his findings was swept out of his mind and replaced by only one thought: _Get out now._

"Linn?"

His voice snapped him back to attention. He shoved the shirt against Arthur's chest, pushing him backwards into the living room while he pulled the bedroom door closed with his other hand. "Here you go! Sorry, I forgot that I... left something at my place. You go and get dressed, I'll go and get that thing."

Linn didn't give him any time to answer, leaving him with a confused expression on his face as he made his way over to the front door. He barely heard Arthur's hesitant objection as he opened it and stepped outside, only glancing back to see him slowly pushing the bedroom door open again. His feet worked on autopilot as he quickly walked down the hallway after debating for a quick second whether to head back to his flat and lock himself in, but seeing as he had little faith in the sturdiness of his door he was already halfway down the stairs before the realisation of his decision had sunk in. Careful to avoid the treacherous seventh step that always creaked when someone put his foot on it he almost didn't register the cursing that originated from Arthur's flat and was carried out into the hallway through the open door.

_Get out now. Get out now. Getoutnow. GET OUT!_

Linn jumped down the last set of stairs as he heard the door being wrenched open and Arthur's shadow being cast against the wall in the hallway. Pushing himself against the opposite wall in the floor below him he silently crept along it while hearing him pound against the door of his flat.

"Linn! Linn, please, open the door, let me explain! Dammit, Merlin, _please_!"

He froze as he rounded the corner that led downstairs. He had never told Arthur his name. Never. _He knows my name. He knew where I lived._ Forgoing safety for speed he dashed down to the ground floor, hearing Arthur yell after him once he realized who the footsteps pounding against the stairs belonged to. He barged out onto the street, only narrowly missing a pedestrian who shot him a glare, and ignored his instinct that wanted him to turn right. The chill of the night wound its way through his light jacket as he ran down the opposite direction of his shop and jumped into the next alleyway, hoping to have gotten out of Arthur's sight in time.

His panting puffed out in small clouds that quickly dispersed as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. The wall was cold against his back, yet it didn't stop him from wishing he could just melt into it. Linn strained his ears to listen to any sounds coming from the road, and just as he was about to peek around the corner he heard Arthur shouting for him again. He stood frozen and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that the older man would walk the other way or return into the apartment building. As a minute passed and Linn still found himself alone in the alley he cautiously glanced around the corner to find the sidewalk void of any presence. He didn't know whether Arthur had continued to look for him or returned to his flat. Either way he had no other choice but to leave, even if he didn't know where to.

Linn pulled up the zipper of his jacket and buried his hands in his pockets. He wondered how everything could have gone wrong, whether he had overreacted or had made the right decision. If so, what could he do now? With little to no evidence of any foul play he could hardly turn up at the police station, telling them... what exactly? That his boyfriend had stalked him even before he was born?

He stopped dead in his tracks as he ran his last words over in his mind again. Arthur, his boyfriend. While he had been reluctant to call what they had a relationship, it felt right to use that term to describe how he felt about him. Had felt. Linn was confused, didn't know what was true or false anymore. Was everything Arthur had told him a lie? His continuous advances just an act to get close? If so, why? There was nothing special about him, nothing that would justify anyone doing such in depth research about him. And why did he have those newspaper clippings? Did he collect them merely out of interest, or were some of them trophies? Linn felt guilty even thinking about the latter, all but accusing him of being some sort of psychopath. He had never given any indication during the time they'd known each other that Arthur bore any ill will towards him.

This was ridiculous. Once more Linn stopped and huffed in annoyance. They had to talk, he should have given him a chance to explain, if not at home, then at least in a public space where there were enough witnesses in case Arthur tried to do anything.

"Oh for god's sake, Linn stop it." Angry at himself for harbouring such thoughts he decided to return, call Arthur and meet up with him at Steve's place. Linn didn't get very far though, as he suddenly felt strong arms wrap around his torso, pinning his arms to the side, and a piece of cloth pushed against his mouth and nose. He gasped in surprise, and it took him a moment too long to realize the cloth had been drenched in chloroform.

As he dropped to the ground and slipped into unconsciousness, Linn's only thoughts centred on a question. _Why me?_

~*~*~

Winters in England were always cruel, but this year it had been a harsh season, even for Merlin. A thick layer of snow had settled over the city like a blanket, one that had been drenched in blood more often than the warlock wanted. In the solitude of the night he had retreated to the graveyard that lay in the outskirts of the city, in order to make his final offering to the gods. The tombstone he stood in front of had been erected the night before, the single plate bearing a name more familiar than Merlin wanted it to be.

He was tired. Tired of spending his lives searching for Arthur, only to never succeed the way he wanted to. All this time, and not once did he remember him - if he managed to find him at all. He wondered where his spell had gone wrong, why it had failed him at such a crucial time. He knew he was meant to be at Arthur's side, and he wanted to be by his side. He was his king, his other side of the coin.

He was so tired. Tired of visiting Arthur's graves, tired of watching him lead a life in happiness and bliss without ever knowing who he or Merlin used to be. While he had to admit that those were selfish thoughts, he couldn't stop himself from thinking them. He put his hand on the tombstone and allowed himself to succumb to his grief. Merlin didn't want to torture himself any longer. He had done all he could - for once he should let Arthur be the one to fulfil destiny. His magic was still pulsing, and Arthur would be able to find the warlock if he wanted to. All Merlin had to do was give him the incentive to listen to what lived inside of him. The last sacrifice his magic could give, to awaken the fallen king from his endless slumber.

This life was to be the last Merlin would remember, remember who he was, and who he used to be. The incantation that he had memorised centuries ago but never dared to utter before fell easily from his lips. He could feel how his magic resisted, wanted to struggle and wrap itself tightly around him, but it was to no avail. The spell was cast, his will was done. There was only one thing left to do.

Standing at the shore of the Thames he let his gaze stray over the city. For a brief moment he wondered whether he hadn't let his emotions cloud his judgement. But as quick as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it, letting his determination rule his actions.

The water was clinging to him in an icy grip as he walked into the river.

Merlin was tired.

~*~*~

Linn was used to headaches, whether they were caused by a sudden change of weather, a hangover, or him banging his head countless times against the shelves he restocked. He wasn't used to headaches that were caused by drugs, much less the ones that forced his mind into a state of sleep that wasn't caused by exhaustion. He also wasn't sure whether one was supposed to have such vivid dreams while unconsciousness had clouded one’s senses, especially those kinds of dreams - nightmares - that hadn't plagued him since he was a child. Over the years he had forgotten that he once used to live in another world during his nights which felt so real that for a long time he believed himself to be the mighty wizard Merlin. As he had grown older those dreams had faded, and by the time he was old enough to realize that his name was cause for much ridicule and he referred to himself as Linn, they had stopped all together.

While he wasn't a therapist, he could take a wild guess as to why his subconsciousness had taken him back to his childhood. Why it had insisted on showing his alter dream ego kill himself he didn't know, but he wasn't keen on reliving that dream again. A desperate bark of laughter escaped his throat as he took in the absurdity of the moment. His neck hurt from the unnatural position it had been forced into as his head had hung down, and his shoulders screamed in pain from the strain of his hands that were bound together behind the back of the chair he sat in. Yet the only thing he could think of was not having another nightmare.

The room was dark and cold, and oddly sparse for a flat. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness that was only broken by a small ray of moonlight, he could see a short flight of stairs in the corner that led upstairs. A mouldy smell penetrated his senses, and the contrast of his surroundings became clearer, hitting Linn with the realisation that he must be in someone's basement.

The door that separated the basement from the upper level slowly creaked open. Heavy footsteps accompanied the man who descended the stairs. For a brief moment the horrible thought that his paranoia had been right all along crossed his mind and that Arthur finally decided to make his move. Linn was still hoping he was horribly wrong with his assumption. The lights in the basement flickered to life, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. Once they did his gaze was drawn to the man standing at the bottom of the stair - a man who wasn't Arthur.

His brief moment of relief was replaced with the long overdue panic that rose in the bottom of his stomach as Linn realized the man held a knife in his hand. In vain he struggled against the restraints binding his hands together, and only as he tried to push the chair backwards once the stranger approached him did he realize his feet were tied to the chair legs.

"Please, I don't... what do you want? I have some money, not much, but I-"

A backhanded slap across his face snapped his head to the side and stopped his pleading mid-sentence. Linn was stunned into silence, the burning pain in his cheek only slowly subsiding. Rough fingers grabbed his chin and pulled his head up, forcing him to look into the hard eyes of the person who’d abducted him.

"I would be insulted, Merlin, if I didn't know that you can't help it. I was planning on saving you for last, but beggars can't be choosers. Whatever possessed you to lock yourself away in the first place I don't know, and I don't care. It makes it easier for me, though."

Cold fear ran through Linn's veins. The look the old man threw him didn't ease his mind, and he found himself finally succumbing to the panic that had built up inside of him. Movement in the corner of his eye caused Linn to jerk his head out of the stranger’s grasp. In desperation he tried again to scoot away from him, but the hand that had held his jaw tightened painfully on his shoulder and held him in place.

"I've taken care of the others, now I will take care of you. This is for what you did to my daughter, _Emrys._ "

Linn was only dimly aware of the knife being pushed past his ribs as the pain filled his senses. He could only scream, until everything went dark again.

~*~*~

His dream was silent. If it was a dream at all.

~*~*~

Darkness was around him. The air was hot, barely breathable, and every time his lungs expanded he felt as if the next gasp for air might drown him. His ability to move was constricted, with his legs bent and already complaining about the uncomfortable position he had been forced into, but he couldn't stretch them out any further. He had tried, but the room had only allowed him a few more inches before he hit a wall. His arms didn't do any better as they had to be forced into a similar odd angle with barely any room for movement.

But it wasn't the fact that he was surrounded by darkness, or that he was locked in a room that appeared to be no bigger than a cupboard. It was the fact that every movement hurt, every ragged breath felt as if he were inhaling tiny needles, and that his shirt was getting wetter.

The stillness that accompanied the darkness suddenly dispersed as footsteps pounded against a wooden floor, not far away from where he was lying. Soon those were joined by an agitated voice, and that agitated voice was followed by a loud crash, more shouting and... nothing.

For several long seconds there was silence, the kind of silence one would hear when time stopped moving, until the unmistakable sound of gunshots rang through the air.

Silence descended again, but by then Linn didn't know whether it was the house that was silent or his imagination. He could feel himself getting weaker, and his foolish attempt to move made him regret his decision once again as the pain flared up. A tingling sensation that originated in his fingertips crawled up his arms. The further it travelled, the more at ease he started to feel. _"Is that what death feels like?"_

Footsteps rapidly drew nearer, making Linn wish that death would hurry up. He didn't want to experience the feeling of getting shot on top of getting stabbed. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. His usual method of calming himself down always worked, and oftentimes he would find himself taken back to his childhood, to the many happy memories of himself and his parents. Only now he found himself standing in a courtyard, the walls of an impressive castle rising around him, their towers seeming to rise endlessly into the sky. Although he knew he had never been there before, he somehow knew it was his home.

The tingling spread through his entire body, and he felt warm. Gone was the pain and the suffering. He felt at peace.

Too far gone into his mind, Linn didn't notice the door to his makeshift cell being torn open or gentle hands carefully pulling him out of the closet. Only as he felt his shoulders being shaken did the image start to crumble and he slowly drifted into consciousness.

"Merlin? Merlin, please, stay awake, stay with me."

That name. It had a familiarity he couldn't quite place.

_It's my name. Merlin._

The face that anxiously hovered above his was still too blurry to make out any clear features, but Linn could recognize that mop of blond hair anywhere. Arthur had come for him, after all, but he felt that this wasn't his Arthur.

_My king. He has returned._

Reaching out a hand, his fingertips travelled along the strong jaw, leaving behind a trail of blood. His head started to pound, as if someone banged their fists against a wall.

"Merlin, please just... just hang on. I can't lose you, not after I've finally found you."

The ground disappeared beneath him as Arthur picked him up and carried him out of the house. As they walked past what looked like a living room, Linn saw the stranger lying dead on the ground, blood originating from the gunshot wounds in his chest. A name was on the tip of his tongue, but he felt so weak. The chilly air hit him full force as he was carried outside. The moon was hanging like a bright pearl in the sky, and for the first time since what seemed an eternity, he could _see_ Arthur for a moment before his eyes slid shut.

Linn was tired.

"Merlin? Merlin!"

_Merlin. He was Emrys._

_"I remember."_

~*~*~

The mattress was soft under his body and his head was gently cushioned on a soft pillow as the sunlight that streamed through the window danced on his face and tickled him awake. Blinking against the light he slowly drifted into consciousness, allowing his eyes a moment before his surroundings swam into focus. The room had a familiarity to it which he didn't instantly grasp until he recognized the closet his eyes fell on. It was the very same closet he was standing next to before he ran, the one which was in Arthur's bedroom.

Linn pushed himself into a sitting position and slid back to resting against the headboard. His thoughts were jumbled, too many memories still trying to lock into place and form a timeline that made sense.

His name was Merlin Emerson. In this life it was. But he also was Merlin, the Emrys. The court sorcerer of Camelot, loyal servant to King Arthur. Arthur, who had saved him. That was not how destiny was supposed to unravel. He was meant to protect and save Arthur, but he had forgone this destiny the night he decided to go to sleep and never wake up again.

"You're not moping because for once I _was_ the knight in shining armour who saved the damsel in distress?"

Arthur was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Even though a smile curled his lips, Merlin could see the concern that shone clear in his eyes. He extended his arm and beckoned him to come over.

"What happened?"

"You happened." Arthur replied as he sat down on the bed next to Merlin. He tugged at the blanket and covered his legs with it. "I can't really explain it with words but I felt it. Whatever you did to lock yourself away in that massive brain of yours backfired and... you woke up."

Reaching out he carefully pulled up Merlin's shirt and laid his hand on where the knife wound had been. "I wanted to take you to a hospital, but on the way there you had healed yourself."

Arthur didn't move his hand as Merlin turned his head to look at him. His eyes were a clear blue colour, and he wondered how he - how Linn couldn't recognize him. "It was Aulfric, wasn't it? He took them. Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine... everyone."

He closed his eyes as Arthur moved forward and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. He couldn't bear to see the grief for his fallen friends and family, and Merlin blamed himself. If only he had paid more attention instead of succumbing to his own despair, he could have prevented it. But now that he had finally found Arthur, his magic was complete again.

"Do you have the knife Aulfric used to kill them?"

He felt the bed shift as Arthur leaned to the side. The drawer of the nightstand opened, and a moment later he felt something heavy being put into his hands. Merlin didn't need any spell to feel the souls trapped inside the knife, souls that were sucked out of this world as Aulfric stabbed them, thus preventing them from moving onwards to their next lives.

Merlin opened his eyes, and he felt the colours of the room shift as the magic flew from his hands into the knife. Cracks wound themselves over the handle and the blade, breaking the magic seal that imprisoned the souls.

"Áhredde."

The knife broke into several pieces, and he could almost hear voices of joy singing around him as a burst of golden light exploded from within the last remnants of the weapon, dispersing as quickly as it had appeared. As Merlin glanced at Arthur, he saw a bright smile on his face as he tried to follow the flow of the released souls out into the world, seeking new homes. He allowed themselves a moment of peace before he spoke up again.

"He will return too, you know?"

Arthur put his arm around Merlin's shoulders and pulled him close, kissing the top of his head. "When he does we will deal with him, once and for all."

Neither of them spoke as they rearranged themselves to lie in Arthur's bed, merely holding onto each other to make up for the centuries they were denied this comfort. Merlin had often dreamt of that moment, even while he was just his servant. But it was his loyalty to his king and queen that prevented him from pursuing his wish.

"Tell me Arthur. What did I miss in those two hundred years I slept?"

Arthur chuckled and pulled out of their embrace to reach under the bed and take out two folders. Merlin's eyes widened in recognition knowing what each of these contained. Putting aside the one that held the newspaper clippings, Arthur opened the other folder and thumbed through it.

"I started compiling these about sixty years ago, I thought I might find some kind of a pattern." Pulling out a document which edges looked more torn and tattered than the others, Merlin found himself looking at an unfamiliar face.

"That's the first of your reincarnations I found, only shortly after you - he - had already died. I guess that was one when you had already locked yourself away."

"I guess so. I don't quite remember him."

He handed the warlock the folder and lay back down, folding his hands behind his back.

"It started in 1806. That's when I first remembered who I was. And that's when I first remembered you."

Neither of them left the bed for a while. Merlin let Arthur's voice fill the room as he told his stories, two hundred years worth of them while he went through the assembled files and newspaper clippings, and once Arthur was finished Merlin took over and told him about the almost one thousand years Arthur had missed.

~*~*~

The End


End file.
